Steep
by little majesty
Summary: Two enemies find companionship in each other. Post-Hogwarts. Draco is still brimming with sarcasm. Hermione is on the verge of a breakdown.
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: If I owned these characters then I wouldn't have to upload this story, now would I? I would have this published while sitting back in my summer home in the French Riviera. Alas, they are not mine, but they belong to J.K. Rowling. And so I must upload them and sit back in my broken computer because I have no life. Basic plot is taken from the movie "Before Sunrise."  
  
Chapter One  
  
It was a bad idea from the very beginning. She knew this, of course. However, the look on her mother's face was so earnest that she had to agree.  
  
And now she was in a train with no one to talk to and nothing to do except stare at scenery that quickly passed by her.  
  
You've seen one forest you've seen them all. She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes.  
  
She shouldn't have given into the woman when she was obviously daft. She did not need this and if she were going to visit Margaret (which was her intention from the start) she would have taken a plane-like most Muggles who didn't have enough time for a coffee break let alone venture across Europe to visit her cousin and her newborn baby.  
  
Hermione shook her head. Of course she had time to visit her cousin. Margaret was almost like her sister-well, not really sister, but more like a cousin.  
  
Obviously she was going insane.  
  
She stood up and began to pace the entire compartment, which wasn't very large. She began ticking them off one by one. The luncheon with the Minister of Magic when she returned, the meeting with her inside source, the. the. the.  
  
What was the other one?  
  
Insane. Did she mention that she might be going insane?  
  
Coffee! She needed coffee. She could imagine it now. A steaming cup of caffeine slowly invading her blood cells making her even more jittery-  
  
Tea would be equally good, she decided.  
  
The train rattled beneath her, swaying a little beneath her feet as she made her way to the food cart. Food cart? Was that even correct? Or was it food carriage? No. sounds even worse. Food cabin? Food compartment?  
  
Her trail of thought ended abruptly the moment she reached her point of destination. What she first saw (or noticed, rather) were the sugar donuts. And the crème puffs. And the strawberry tarts.  
  
And the tea of course.  
  
Her stomach growled loudly making her blush and lower her head. Clearly she would have to get something more substantial than her daily diet of coffee in the morning, coffee in the evening and coffee in the afternoon.  
  
She quickly made her selection and pulled out several bills muttering about how inconvenient Muggle money was in terms of denomination.  
  
The cashier raised an eyebrow.  
  
Hermione raised one back at her. "Is there a problem?"  
  
"Er, no. None at all," the cashier replied hastily. "So that would be one small garden salad, one turkey sandwich, a pot of jasmine tea, which will be brought to you, two donuts, two strawberry tarts and two crème puffs. Would you like anything else?"  
  
Hermione ignored the pointed look the cashier gave her. "Yes. Although, I think I might try a couple of your cherry tarts later." Hermione bit back a smile. "For dessert," she added before turning to find a place to sit.  
  
Which turned out to be more difficult that she had initially thought as it was quite literally packed with people.  
  
She had been walking up and down the aisle for some while, her arms straining from the weight of her load, when she found a vacant table. Well, a semi-vacant table as there was already someone sitting on one side, head made invisible by a newspaper.  
  
She carefully slid her tray onto the table and cleared her throat.  
  
And cleared her throat a little louder.  
  
"Excuse me?" she said softly.  
  
Finally the newspaper barrier descended. "Yes?"  
  
It was like a game. One of those, who can stare at each the longest without blinking-or in this case, without screaming at the other in surprise and yelling hexes.  
  
Hermione lost. She would have won if she hadn't went on for so long without breathing.  
  
"Well, if it isn't Miss Hermione Granger."  
  
She slid onto the bench and glared at the person opposite her. "Malfoy."  
  
He grinned at her. Grinned. White pearly teeth that were just begging to be hexed. or knocked out. She wasn't averse to not using her wand, especially when the situation called for it.  
  
Draco Malfoy. The prince of the Wizarding community. The man who had the entire world kissing his feet. The boy who had tormented her repeatedly in Hogwarts. The criminal she was bent on exposing.  
  
"Really, Granger, if I knew that you were going to such lengths in order to spy on me," he told her, his grin never waning, "I would have made it easier for you. Perhaps leaving you my itinerary would be enough. Not to worry, though. The next time I plan to travel, I'll have my secretary contact you."  
  
"And lead me straight into a den of Death Eaters?" she spat back at him, each word heavily laced with venom.  
  
Draco folded his newspaper carefully and settled it on the seat beside him before looking back at Hermione. "No," he replied calmly. "To enjoy a fun- filled weekend with me at Copenhagen. We can look at the statue of the Little Mermaid and think, 'Oh woe to these Muggles who think that this is wonderful. A pity that don't know what hidden beneath.'"  
  
"A den of Death Eaters?"  
  
Hermione watched a Draco threw his head back in shouts of laughter, his shoulders shaking with the force of each sound.  
  
"You never let up, do you Granger?" There was no trace of malice in his voice. Amusement, perhaps, which was just as annoying if not more so. "You're so convinced that I'm out to get you."  
  
She smirked at this pronouncement. "And you're not?"  
  
"My, my, my. Aren't we feeling self-centered today?"  
  
Hermione ignored him and turned to her food instead. She opened the plastic container that held the precious green of her salad. She mixed in the dressing. She speared some with her fork. She held it up to mouth. She dropped her fork.  
  
"What are you doing here?!" she sputtered, an incredulous look in her eyes. "You're in a Muggle. conveyance with. Muggles!"  
  
"And?"  
  
"You're Draco Malfoy."  
  
"I am indeed. I'm Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Twenty- two years old. Handsome as hell. Adored by many. Stalked by many. Namely you." His voice trailed off. He picked a cherry tomato from Hermione's salad and popped it into his mouth. "Admit it, you find this combination irresistible."  
  
"You didn't answer my question. And you stole my tomato."  
  
Draco chuckled. "Well, it could have been worse."  
  
Hermione looked doubtful. "How?"  
  
"I could have stolen one of your donuts." 


	2. Chapter Two

Draco shook his head in disbelief, eyeing the empty plates scattered on the table. He didn't know where she put it all away.

Hermione knew what Draco was thinking the moment she caught his expression. She wiped her mouth with a napkin, which she promptly launched at his face.

"What?" he asked, as the napkin narrowly missed him, the tip slightly grazing his ear.

She gave him her best quelling look. "You were looking at me—funny."

"Really, Granger." Draco replied condescendingly. "I would have thought that after all these years, you'd be used to me looking at you—funny."

"Well, you never looked at me like _this_."

"That would be because I've never seen anyone eat something that resembled of house before."

She made a perfect O with her lips but no words would come out.

"Yes?" Draco drawled, enjoying the novel speechlessness of Hermione. "Is there something you'd like to say?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed to mere slits before she finally replied. "Obviously you haven't matured. Still."

"Oh please." Draco rolled his eyes upwards before looking into Hermione's eyes. "You probably want a compliment, don't you? Let's see."

Hermione tried not to fidget under Draco's gaze. It was something she had never been subjected to before. Fleeting glances, scowls, smirks; those she knew. But she had never been, well, appraised by him before. As if he was searching for something inside of her. Something only he knew was there.

"There's a quill stuck in you hair."

Hermione looked at him curiously. "A what?"

"A quill," he repeated a little louder. "It's stuck in your hair."

Hermione touched she hair self-consciously. "Oh that. Well, it was all I had to keep my hair up."

"And your shirt."

"What about my shirt." She looked down at her blue button-down shirt. Plain, simple, it served its purpose. What was wrong with that?

As if hearing her thoughts, Draco smirked. "It's worn. Terrible worn. And it looks like it belonged to your father. In its past life." He rudely pointed a finger her. "And don't bother denying it. You know it's true."

It was true. Hermione crossed her arms and turned her gaze to the window. "Okay, that's enough."

Of course, Draco ignored her. "And you're wearing slacks. Brown slacks." He grinned, blatantly pleased at Hermione's discomfort. "Brown slacks that are much too big for you. And your hands are covered in ink. I'm positive that before coming here you were thinking about work, wishing that you had your nose digging deep into a mountain of papers."

As much as Hermione wanted to deny all that, she couldn't. "And your point is?"

"You, Hermione Granger, have successfully turned yourself into a man."

Bookworm. Teacher's Pet. Know-It-All. Smart Aleck. Mudblood. Nosy Bitch. Names she had heard over years. A man? She had never heard that one before.

"I though you were going to give me a compliment," she spat out angrily. "You didn't tell me you were going to insult me."

"I did compliment you. A woman doing a man's job. You don't see that everyday."

Hermione almost laughed at his face. "No, Draco. YOU don't see that everyday."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Hermione explained with as much patience as she could muster, "that your exposure to women has been very minimal."

Draco raised an eyebrow. Hermione stopped. And blushed. Very deeply.

"That's not what I meant," she clarified. "I simply meant that you haven't met a lot of take-charge women. Strong women. Women who don't need a man in order to survive. Women who are very unlike Pansy."

"Pansy?"

"Yes, Pansy." Hermione twirled her plastic fork around on her the table. "By the way, how is Pansy?"

"I can't say."

"Eh?"

"Well, it's really either of two things," he told her plainly. "Either she's weeping by her dying husband's bed or he's already dead and she's doing her best to spend all the money he's left her."

Hermione gasped. "Malfoy, that's the," she began, grasping for words right and left, "worst thing I've ever heard anyone say about someone else."

"I'll tell you something worse, Granger. Marrying an eighty-year-old man because he's richer than even us, the Malfoys, has no heir and has lurking at Death's door for quite a while now."

"Oh," was all Hermione could say. She didn't want to sound more of a stupid chit than already did.

"Granger, Granger, Granger," Draco sighed, in a tired sort of way.

Hermione remained silent.

"Why are you so adamant in biting my head off?" he asked off-handedly. "I mean, what have I ever done to you?"

Hermione didn't hold back this time. "You mean aside from persistently calling me a Mudblood at every opportunity, wishing me death and making my life a general hell—I don't know. Why don't you tell me?"

"People change, Granger."

"Oh, and I'm supposed to believe that you've changed?"

"I'm not like other people," he retorted.

"And thank Merlin for that."

Draco smirked at her. Smirked, because truthfully, he didn't know what else to say. She really hadn't changed over the years. Still annoying. Still able to get under his skin. Still able to make him speechless and feel like an idiotic prat right after. Damn her.

"I wanted to know what it was like."

"What?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"Being a Muggle," he explained in an almost pained voice. "Everyone who doesn't have an once of a brain in their heads claim that Muggle-borns, Half-bloods and Purebloods are all the same. I just wanted to see if it was true. This," he said, gesturing at their surroundings with his right hand. "Is all an experiment on my part."

"Oh, I understand. We're like laboratory rats to you," Hermione replied sarcastically.

"Only if you choose to see it that way."

She shot him a pointed look. "You know, this so called 'air of ambiguousness' doesn't fit you. You'll need long white hair and a hundred more years to your age before you can pull it off properly."

Draco smirked.

Hermione smirked back. She leaned over the table before whispering. "I've been meaning to ask you something."

"What?"

A/N:

Thank you to all who reviewed. J I'll try to update more often. The R-rating won't come into affect until later chapters. In the meantime, I'm trying to set the tone for the story. Wish me luck!


	3. Chapter Three

Draco leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. "No."

"Please?"

"NO."

"Pleeeeaaaaaase?"

"Granger, is it me did you turn it out to be more than annoying than you already were to begin with?"

Hermione pouted. "I am _not_ annoying. I am merely persistent. Determined. Unrelenting."

"Yeah," he replied tersely. "Like the itch on my arse that just _won't go away_."

Hermione immediately brushed it aside. "This, Malfoy, is a chance in a lifetime," she told him, her voice quiet as if divulging the secrets of the universe. "The thing is, I _know_ that you're guilty. Others know that you're guilty. It won't be too long before you'll end up behind prison bars in Azkaban. But here I am, willing to give you a chance to redeem yourself before that time comes. I can tell the world how you… really didn't mean it. This won't make you any less guilty, but it might earn you some compassion."

Uneasy silence came and went before Draco answered.

"Whatever made you think that I was in _need_ of any compassion, Granger?" He ran his hand through his hair absent-mindedly, making it fall across his forehead. "You must have me mistaken for some pathetic mongrel."

Hermione stiffened at his words. "Well, the similarities were uncanny." She slid across the chair and stood up. "It was nice talking to you, Mister Malfoy," she said politely, holding out her hand.

Her eyes widened when she felt her hand enveloped in his warm one and with a small tug on his part, landed very ungracefully beside him.

Draco smiled when caught Hermione's glare.

"What?" he asked, feigning innocence.

Hermione frowned. "What is that?" She leaned down and sniffed his neck. "I know that smell…"

It was Draco's turn to 'stiffen' the moment her nose nuzzled his neck. "Stop it, Granger."

With one last sniff Hermione leaned back. "That's a Muggle perfume." There was an unmistakable awe in her voice. "See?" she said, as leaning in for one last whiff. "I remember because that's the perfume I gave Ron when we—"

_Curious,_ Draco thought. "When you what?"

"When we… parted ways."

"Parted ways?"

She looked at Draco oddly. It felt different having him seem—interested. He was never interested in her in a good way. There were times at Hogwarts when she hoped that he found her the most uninteresting person alive just so he would stop tormenting her and calling her names. But now… it was disturbing. As if he sincerely wanted to hear what she had to say.

"We broke up," she confessed, her eyes downcast.

Draco was perplexed, to say the least. "You gave each other gifts when you broke up?"

"Well, you don't have to put it like _that_," she argued. "It was a symbol of our friendship. That even though it didn't work between us romantically, we would always be friends."

"And how is the Weasel now?"

Hermione smiled wistfully. "Engaged."

"Well, who would have thought…" Draco stopped in mid-sentence when he caught the warning look Hermione shot him. He cleared his throat. "And how is Potter doing? Still alive, I assume. Slaying dark lords all over the world? Saving mankind without breaking a sweat?"

"We're married and have four children."

"_What_?"

Hermione successfully kept a straight face. "What?"

"What?!"

"… What?"

Draco frowned and placed a finger on Hermione's lips. "You're not married. No wedding ring on your finger. Stop lying."

Hermione turned her head away, shaking off Draco's finger. "Your hand smells like the newspaper," she informed him. "And no, we're still the good friends that we were when we were in Hogwarts but we're not married. Harry, on the other hand, is married to the Ministry of Magic. Poor dear. Work is wearing him thin."

"Speak for yourself."

"I happen to love what I do. Journalists are the eyes of the people, you know," she cocked an eyebrow at him, almost challenging Draco to say otherwise.

"And therefore you can alter people's perception," he pointed out. "What happens when you're wrong? What if you misjudge someone? Make someone out to be the 'bad guy' when in reality, he really isn't? You aren't 'the eyes of the people.' The lot of you are vultures circling over their next prey."

Hermione gasped loudly before jumping out of her seat. "I know what you're doing, Malfoy! I'd be insane if I think, for even one moment, that you're not guilty. You're a… a… fraud. A… a… manipulative… arse… with a… a… Ferret!"

"Really, Granger. The ferret deal got old too fast," he drawled, not the slightest bit annoyed by her words. "And you're not really mad. You're just acting the way you _think_ you're supposed to act. All affronted and whatnot even if you know that I was right. Even if just a little."

Hermione stared at him while trying to think of snappy comeback. But she couldn't come up with one. He was right. Well, not completely correct, but there were some journalists out there who were merely in it for the glory, the attention and, more often than not, the money. She couldn't deny the fact that journalists were some of best blackmailers around. How could they not be? They held the information, the power, the respect of the people. It would be so easy for them to destroy someone completely. Utterly. Without qualm or hesitation.

She sat back down. "You can stop gloating now…"

"I never began."

"Not all of us are like that, you know." She sighed tiredly.

"Right, not all of us are bad… manipulative arses," he joked, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Sometimes, people think the worst of us."

Draco nodded in understanding. "Misconceptions are a bloody nuisance to deal with."

"You can't always judge a tree by the fruit it bears."

"No, you can't," he readily agreed as he ran his finger across her hairline, gently brushing her brown curls away.

Hermione looked up at Draco, oblivious to his tender ministrations. "People should have to learn how not to expect too much."

"I agree," he breathed before pressing his lips against her temple.

"What did you just do?" she asked, her voice void of accusation.

"I kissed you," he replied simply.

"Why?"

"Because… you have… kissable temples."

Draco groaned inwardly. Just because he didn't know why he did it, didn't mean he had to give her some lame-ass excuse. He gave her a weak smile.

Hermione nodded and smiled back. "Draco," she said softly. "Why do you hate me so much?"

Draco couldn't answer for the simple reason that he had forgotten.

**A/N:**

This is definitely an odd chapter, as I had to deal with a jumble and mix of emotions. Sorry if some of the spelling and grammar is off. The story, so far, is unedited and unbeta-ed since I wanted to get this to you as soon as possible. Be rest assured that I will eventually edit the previous chapters.

Thank you to all who reviewed! They really mean a lot to me. ^__^ Come on! You can review some more!


	4. Chapter Four

There had to be some sort of trick that men didn't know. Some button they could push to just _make it all STOP_. Or perhaps it was just all wishful thinking on his part—which it probably was, but that didn't stop him from asking the Heavens anyway.

And his pristine handkerchief was irreparably ruined.

Normally, being the center of attention wasn't so very bad. He liked it. He positively _glowed_. But really, this was a different situation altogether.

Another hacking wheeze drew his attention and made him groan inwardly.

"Granger?" He couldn't believe how—nice he was being to her. What the hell happened? They were having a somewhat pleasant conversation about how wrong she was and then he… erm, showed a _little_ affection toward her, and then…

She decided to flood the entire train with her tears.

"Granger?" he repeated softly with a bit more urgency in his voice. Some of the Muggle women had an almost accusatory look on their faces. Evidently they thought he was the reason behind Granger's crying.

"No… body… under… sta… ands me," she hiccupped. "No… one does."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Right, Granger. Everyone thinks that you're this horrid monster out to kill people when they're not looking or worse swindle them blind. Right, that's the story of _your_ life."

Hermione let out a strangled wail making even more people look in their direction.

Draco never felt this sort of humiliation before. Sure, he knew the looks of contempt people gave him behind his back, the whispered words of hate when they thought he couldn't hear. Seriously though, _Muggles?_ _Muggles_ looking at him like he was the spawn of Lucifer?

Surely, he was better looking than that.

"All right, Granger," he said, his voice stern and full of authority. "I'll count from one to three and then I'll expect to see you shut—quiet," he quickly amended.

"One…"

_Sniff._

"Two…"

_Sniff._

"Three!"

Nothing.

Nothing except for Granger looking at him. Staring at him. If looks could kill… Draco could only hope that he could be reincarnated as something pretty. Like a butterfly. Or maybe even a—

"What?" he asked sharply.

Her glare never wavered. "You're a mean-hearted bastard, did you know?"

"Bastard?" he repeated, the drawl back in his voice. "You know that isn't true, Granger."

"Mean-spirited arsehole!"

Draco nodded appreciatively. "Much better."

Indeed it was much better. He preferred angry words to tears. So hex him to Hades and back. He didn't know how to deal with crying girls. Sure, he could get them crying in a blink of an eye, but stopping? That was something alien to his system. Like say… _poverty_.

"Glad to see you're calm and… dry again," he said as he picked up his long discarded paper and began to open it.

"Malfoy?"

"Hmm…"

"Why are you reading a Muggle newspaper?"

Draco titled his head to the side and considered his companion for a moment. "Well, let's see. Before you came, I was bored and had absolutely nothing to do. Someone had left this here and I figured that it would give me something to laugh about later. You know like, 'Oh ha ha ha ha. Stupid Muggles and their so-called government. Can they be even more pathetic?'" That earned him another glare which he ignored as he moved on. "Then you came. And you provided much entertainment. However, now you are no longer entertaining so I revert to this newspaper."

She couldn't tell really. Rage? Fury? What was the difference? It was like the difference between irritation and annoyance. They were synonymous, weren't they? So why do you need so many words to just describe one feeling? Nevertheless, Hermione wanted nothing more than to… to kill and… torture and… make him cry and… fester… and rot and… be… very, very dirty.

Especially the dirty part.

She stood up abruptly and whispered without facing, "Goodbye, you infuriating prat. Thank for the nastiest meal ever witnessed by man. I will remember it fondly while looking back on the worst days of my life."

Draco gave a low chuckle. "Goodbye for now, Granger."

~~*~~

Hermione sighed as she closed the door to her compartment.

_Stupid prat,_ she thought as she sat back down and gazed out of the window. Again. _And now it's back to square one_.

Maybe she should have stayed with Malfoy?

Hermione mentally smacked herself. That was Draco Malfoy. The criminal, Draco Malfoy. Mister Draco "I eat Mudbloods for breakfast" Malfoy. The bane of her existence.

The only person she could talk to at this point. Very unsettling.

She closed her eyes. She felt drained, emotionally and physically. She felt like an utter twat for having burst into tears but something inside of her just—snapped. And it caused this great waterfall of humiliation.

Even now she could feel them threatening to fall once again. When did things become so difficult? When did they become too hard or heavy to handle? Because now, it felt like the whole world was on her shoulders. When did that happen?

She shook her head morosely. But she couldn't help but recall what Malfoy said… What did he say again? Oh right…

What happens when you're wrong? What if you misjudge someone? Make someone out to be the 'bad guy' when in reality, he really isn't? You aren't 'the eyes of the people.'

Could it be even remotely possible that Draco Malfoy just might be as innocent as he was implying?

No, she didn't want to think about that anymore.

She lifted her legs up on the seat and leaned her head back against the window, her eyes slowly closing. Soon they will be in Paris and after that, she would board another train and journey for Nice.

And then, she'll be far, far away from Draco Malfoy.

Far, far away.

**A/N:** Thank you for all the reviews! You are all so lovely! ^__^ I'm just about to start Chapter Five and hope to get it to you right away. They finally reach Paris and Hermione finds herself in another "situation."


	5. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: Meh. I always forget to add this . Well, you all know the drill. I don't own Harry Potter. I wish it, though. Or even just Draco. Please, J.K.R.? Just Draco? Oh well.

~~*~~

She wanted to cry. Again.

"What do you mean the train won't be leaving until tomorrow morning?" Hermione hated the whine in her voice, but couldn't help it. It took all her will-power not to stomp her feet as well.

"Mademoiselle, when I sed zat ze train will be leaving tomorrow in ze morning, that was what I meant."

Hermione shook her head vehemently.

The train station employee nodded vigorously.

"So… I'm going to have to stay in Paris for the day…"

"And ze night. If you want Mademoiselle, we can load most of your things onto ze train now so you won't be having to bring them with you."

Hermione sighed in resignation. Obviously, there was nothing else for her to do. All the other passengers of the train she had previously ridden were already on their way to the exit and she didn't want to be alone.

Well, more alone to begin with.

It took her about half an hour before she could emerge out into the sunlight of the Parisian sky. She had been here before. Long ago. Very long ago. In fact, she doubted she knew what was where and how to get there.

She slung her backpack over her shoulders and took a deep breath.

"You look like you're preparing for an execution."

Hermione turned around quickly, her unbound hair hitting her face. Through her wince she saw a blur of blond and a trace of a smirk. "Malfoy?"

"Yes, Granger?" he asked cordially as he sauntered over to her. "What is it?" He was looking comfortably… load-less. Didn't he ever bring anything with him?

"Oi, you're the one waiting here. For _me_," Hermione pointed out, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Where was she going?

"Where are you going?" he asked, still standing beside her and looking as if he wouldn't be moving any time soon. "I'm just asking purely out of curiosity, you know."

Left? Right? Really which way? She could take a taxi… but where would she go?

"Right, Malfoy," she replied distractedly. She walked back towards the train station and heard his footsteps following after her. She decided to let him catch up with her. "Don't you find this the least bit… well, ironic?" she asked as she looked at him questioningly the moment he was beside her once again. "_You_ following _me_ around?"

Draco shrugged. And then he smirked for good measure. She looked helpless. Helpless and flustered. A helpless and flustered Hermione? Almost like the sun rising from the west and hell freezing over.

"You look lost," he said, stating the obvious while trying not to laugh. "Don't know how to get to your hotel. Really Granger, I thought you more capable than that."

She shook her head while and started for the small gift shop she passed earlier. She entered the quaint store and scanned it quickly. Ah hah! A map! She grinned maniacally. She fished out her wallet from her pocket. Her wallet… from her pocket. Her wallet… Her… wallet?

Her hand lay flat against the empty pocket and her eyes flew open in shock. She quickly peeled her bag from her back and all but dropped its contents on the floor. Quills. A few notebooks. Her wand. An array of odds and ends. No wallet.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Er… looking for something, Granger?"

"Yes!" she wailed. "Just… oh, I don't know. My _entire life_!"

Draco stared at her, confusion written all over his face. "Which would be what? Your _Hogwarts, A History_? Or wait…" he said, the confusion immediately replaced by hilarity. "Your SPEWED pin or badge or whatever. That's it, right?"

Hermione glared at Draco as he let out peals of laughter and even had the audacity to slap his knee. "It's S.P.E.W. not spewed, you moron," she huffed as she began to gather her things into her bag. "Must you always be so… _you_?"

Draco looked at her curiously. "And if I shouldn't act like _me_, who should I act like?" he retorted and then snapped his fingers. "Oh, I know, I'll act like Potter. Here Hermione, let me carry your bag."

Before she could deny him he had already taken it out of her arms and slung it over his shoulder. She folded her arms in front of her and looked at Draco expectantly.

The git smiled at her.

Smiled?

"Malfoy, you misplaced your smirk, I'll help you find it as soon as I find my wallet. Now as for my wallet…" Hermione tried to recount the places she could have placed it. No, she rechecked her compartment before she left so she couldn't have left it there. The only other option she had left would be to look through the bags she left on the train to Nice.

"It _has_ to be there," she muttered as she began walking towards the train. "Come along, Malfoy."

_Come along Malfoy_? Good Merlin… Is acting like Potter synonymous with acting like a dog? If Hermione continued to treat him like this, he just might find it in him to start some sort Potter Sympathy Society or something.

Draco shuddered. Way too many weird happenings in too short a time.

"_Malfoy_!"

He rolled his eyes. And followed after her.

"I don't have to do this, you know," he thought to say as soon as he had finally caught up with her.

Hermione regarded Draco for a moment. He looked at him from head to foot. From his blond hair that was miraculously relieved of gel, his undoubtedly expensive charcoal-coloured suit and to the tips of his shiny black shoes. If he were anyone else aside from who he actually was… She would have thanked the Heavens for giving her someone so… delectable.

Hermione grimaced at the turn of her thoughts. _Hermione, Merlin can you be anymore disgusting? How many times do you have to remind yourself that you're talking about? A million? Or two?_

"No, Malfoy," she replied tersely, "you don't. So why are you?"

That had Draco stumped like an Arithmancy problem.

Hermione waved her hand about, immediately dismissing the issue. "Forget I asked, Malfoy, because really—I don't want to know."

Draco shrugged. No skin of his back, really.

He watched as Hermione walked up to a train that was different from the one they had ridden earlier and watched as she tried to get on. And still watched while someone reprimanded her for doing so. He cracked a smile when the two got into a heated argument. He was worried for the man. Hermione's flailing arms looked like they could do serious damage.

The man finally left and with a heavy sigh, Draco walked over to Hermione and poked her hard on the shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Hermione whirled around to face Draco. "He… he… he wouldn't let me on the train! The man who was here earlier let me on so that I can place the rest of my things inside, but now I can't get them!"

Draco did pity her. After all, she looked just about ready to cry. Oh Merlin… please. Not again.

He was ready to just leave her there. And just go some place else. Far, far away from Hermione Granger and her—tears.

"C'mon, Granger. You look like you need something to eat." It was a blatant lie, but it seemed to perk her up.

Then immediately crestfallen. "But I don't have my wallet with me."

"Well, that can easily be remedied," he told her arrogantly.

Hermione hid her clenched fists telling herself that she could wait a few moments before smacking him or just doing him great bodily harm in general. "Really, how?"

Draco ignored the superficial wonder in her voice. "You can spend the day with me."

A/N: Wasn't this chapter just so awesomely contrived? And aren't I just awful at French accents? Hehehe. Oh well. 

Much thanks for the reviews! I love them so much! I squeal and giggle whenever I receive one and I fangirl your reviews a lot—not that you needed to know that. I'd _really_ appreciate it if you all keep reviewing. *huggles and much, much love*

What's in store in the next chapter? Hmm… the Eiffel Tower, ice cream and Draco trying to get Hermione out of her clothes. Naughty, naughty, naughty Draco ^__~ Don't we all want one?


	6. Chapter Six

Disclaimer: Don't own it. I would if I could but I can't.

~*~

"It was just odd, you know," she continued on as she sank further down the plush interior of Malfoy's car. "I was just sitting their car and they kept talk about this little piece of wonderful technology and this incompetent government official and just," she paused for moment, as if in contemplation. "All these things that I couldn't understand. And didn't want to understand…"

She sighed and crossed her legs in a manly manner. "And that got me thinking about how… dependent on magic I've become."

"Er…" Draco tried his best not to roll his eyes. "Touching story, I'm sure."

"Please, Malfoy, you wouldn't last a day in the Muggle world without being able to do magic." Then again, he did have money. And they were seating in his gorgeous car that was being driven by a seemingly deaf chauffer. But still, she doubted he could. Especially since he grew up knowing about magic from the very beginning.

He scoffed at the idea. "I am _not_ dependent on magic."

"Prove it."

"All right then," he replied, cocking an eyebrow at her. "Neither of us will use magic this entire day. Whoever loses will… have to do the winner some sort of favour. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Okay, know let's shake on it and sign our names in blood."

Hermione sighed and turned her attention to the window. Wasn't this all just _peachy_? She gritted her teeth and tried to enjoy the fact that she was in _Paris_, of all places. The city of Luuuurve.

Merlin. What she wouldn't give to be somewhere else. With someone else.

"I know what you're thinking," Malfoy whispered from beside her.

"Oh Great Psychic Malfoy, do grace us with your knowledge."

He brushed away her blatant sarcasm and continued with a smirk, "You wish that you were with someone else. Hmm… I wonder who it would be. The Boy Who Lived Far Longer Than Anyone Expected?" He mockingly tapped his chin with his finger in thought. "Or perhaps it's someone else? Someone who has captured the heart of Hermione Granger, our beloved heroine."

"You know what?" Hermione asked the window. "I hate that. I despise it when people say things about you, like they know who you are and understand you. Because people don't know me and they always act like they do." She turned to him then, her eyes filled with frustration. "Like you, Malfoy. All those years at Hogwarts, did you ever think of me beyond the stereotypes? Beyond being a _Mudblood_? Being a good student? Being friends with people you didn't like? Did you ever, for once, consider who I _really _was?" She turned back to face the window, watching people walk the streets to start their day. "No, you didn't."

"Did you?" Malfoy asked. The challenge in his tone could not be missed.

Hermione faced him, a wary expression on her face. "Did I what?"

"Did you ever consider me to be more than what I seem?" he explained patiently.

Hermione pretended not to be taken aback by his words. But they had affected and for a moment a distinct emotion took hold of her heart. Guilt. She ignored it and took a deep breath before replying with as much venom as she could muster. "You mean, did I ever take the time to get passed the fact that you were an egotistical prat? Sniveling, coward who his behind his father's money? Buying things left and right? Buying things that shouldn't be bought? Buying people?" Hermione tossed Malfoy's chauffer an apologetic look before continuing on with her tirade. "Beyond you who tormented me at each turn, reminding me at every opportunity that I am beneath you and that you are vastly superior to me because of your blood. _Blood?_ You were nothing but an inbred arsehole with his head stuck in regions where the sun never shines."

"A simple 'no' would have sufficed, Granger."

"What?" she asked, exasperated. It couldn't end this way! He couldn't make her out as the ogre, the evil one. "That's all your going to say? No, 'you filth! Get out my car this instant!'"

The car immediately stopped and the door beside Hermione flew open.

She looked from the door to the person next to her, and with a good glare in Malfoy's direction, she grabbed her bag off the floor. She was torn. Pride or… Or what? Companionship? With Malfoy?

"Having second thoughts, luv?"

"Why don't you just—"

He had the gall to quirk an eyebrow at her. "Why don't I just what?"

Hermione laid her bag back on the floor, closed the door and leaned back against the leather seat. "Why don't you just shut up? It's really quite easy. You put your lips together and make sure that nothing comes from between them. Like this," she said demonstrating it.

She didn't feel him. Didn't notice that he had moved from him place until he felt his hot breath on her ear.

"Nothing?"

Hermione shivered at his seductive tone. It was disconcerting, making a small wave of emotion down her spine and to her… to her… well, down _there_. She quickly crossed legs, willing the tingling sensations to leave.

She nodded her head stiffly, trying to ignore that he was there, his lips practically touching her ear.

"_I don't think so_."

It was almost surreal. As if she were standing outside herself, watching as Hermione Granger wrapped her arms about her childhood enemy's neck, drawing him closer, as their positions were shifted and she was lying down on the cool exterior of his car.

She stilled at the touch of his tongue against the corner of her mouth, then slowly outlining her lips. She couldn't describe it. Didn't want to…

His hand came up to her chin, tipping it slightly causing it to part her lips much to his delight. And then he was there… his tongue memorizing each slope and crevice of her mouth, the smoothness and roughness of her tongue as they battled for dominance and shared in the ensuing pleasure.

His hands weren't idle. Quite thankfully. His hands were an artist's dream. Long slender fingers, touching her, caressing her. She whimpered softly as she felt them trace her collarbone. She never knew that her body could be so sensitive to the touch.

"Hermione," she heard him whisper against her mouth, making her move against him in anticipation.

His voice was like honey and his kisses—sheer heaven.

"Dra—"

What. The. Fucking. Hell. Was. She. Doing.

Reality hit hard and caused her to push Malfoy off of her, shoving him onto the floor.

Malfoy gaped at her. His face was handsomely flushed from the recent pleasure and blatant rejection. "What the fucking hell are you doing, Granger?!"

Hermione sat up, her back straight. She took calming breaths hoping that they would calm the warring emotions Malfoy's kisses had evoked in her.

"I don't know, Malfoy," she answered quietly. "Just don't… kiss me again."

He sat down beside her once more, though there was a noticeably wider space in between them, and stared out his window.

Hermione couldn't take the tense silence that overtook them. She wanted to hear what his voice. Wanted him mad at her, or just… something that would make him talk to her.

"Not that you weren't any good, mind you…" she ventured uncertainly, straightening out the creases of her shirt. "Your kisses—they were, erm… _quite_ good."

Malfoy gave a low chuckle. "You were 'quite good' yourself, Granger."

She wanted to be able to explain why she felt absurdly pleased with what Malfoy said. She couldn't, though. Damn those questions you could never answer!

"Eiffel Tower."

~*~

Hermione craned her neck and her hand shielded her eyes. "You know, I could never decide whether the Eiffel Tower's beautiful or just another well-made structure. Like the Tower of Pisa."

"That would be _Leaning_ Tower of Pisa," Malfoy corrected her. He took her by the elbow and led her to the sidewalk, evading excited tourists left and right. "Not exactly well-made. Eiffel Tower, on the other hand, is quite ingenious."

They began walking at a leisurely pace with no particular destination in mind. Hermione didn't like that. She liked having a plan of action, knowing where each step would lead. She supposed it to be the result of the almost constant unpredictability of her years in Hogwarts—aside from the fact that she was born that way.

"Where are we going?" Even though she tried her best to make it sound like she was merely curious, Malfoy saw right through her.

"I don't know, Granger." He ran a hand through his hair and Hermione was mesmerized with watching his blonde locks fall into perfect place. "I don't have everything scheduled at the back of my head. Unlike some."

"I find that hard to believe. See, I always thought that _you_ had a schedule. Something like… wake up, take a bath, gel hair, have breakfast, make asinine remarks about Harry, brownnose way through Potions, lunch, make more asinine remarks, brownnose way through other subjects, retouch hair, dinner, snog Pansy, sleep, dream about finally winning a Quidditch game against Gryffindor…"

"I never snogged Pansy," Malfoy immediately qualified, steering Hermione into a small ice cream store. It was quite nondescript but there was a subtle scent that drew you in almost immediately.

Hermione looked at him curiously. "Never?"

"Well, _she_ snogged_ me_."

Hermione hacked loudly. "Oy, that's disgusting."

"Flavour?"

"Vanilla," she immediately answered. She smiled and pressed her hands up against the cool glass of the ice cream freezer. "Just vanilla."

That was the scent the softly radiated through the store. The scent of her childhood. It reminded her of her family, of childhood playmates and games in the sun and melting ice cream.

"Granger, here's your—"

Had she moved just a fraction slower or had he held out the vanilla ice cream a little farther—then maybe, just maybe, Hermione wouldn't have to wear it on her shirt.

"Argh, Malfoy! One is supposed to eat ice cream, not wear it as a bloody accessory!"

What started off as a small chuckle ended in another round of booming laughter, which Hermione tried to ignore as she began to wipe it off with a couple of tissues from the counter. She could have just done a simple spell to get rid of this mess, but due to the idiotic deal she would have to walk around Paris looking like a bird decided to go potty on her shirt.

She didn't notice that Malfoy had stopped laughing at her plight when he took hold of her elbow again, gently leading her outside.

"What now?" she asked warily.

He smirked at her. "Now, we get you out of those clothes."

**A/N:** Finally updated! Sorry for the delay. I entertained another D/Hr plot bunny and I _had_ to write it out. I might upload it here or over at Fiction Alley, but be warned, it's an angsty little bunny. ^__~

Okay, a few things to answer. First of which, why the hell is Draco being so goddamn nice? I have my reasons and nothing will go unexplained. You'll just have to follow this one to the ending. And if I'm lucky, it'll be worth it.

Secondly, Hermione is deliberately high-strung.  If it seems OOC, I suppose it's because it is. To my defense, this is a Post-Hogwarts fic. In my mind's eye, Hermione fits the history I have given her thus far. Underpaid, overworked and under appreciated. I'm evil, should you take the time to notice. ^__^

On a different note, THANKS to all those who continuously review and read this story. The more reviews I get, the more I'm inspired to write. Or I just get really guilty… j/k!

I love you all so much!


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